


midt i den kalde vinter

by dissembler (orphan_account)



Category: Klaus (2019)
Genre: Cold and Desperate, Hand Kink, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22023208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/dissembler
Summary: How to stay warm in the wild.
Relationships: Jesper Johanssen/Klaus
Comments: 9
Kudos: 323





	midt i den kalde vinter

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write size kink for these two since I watched the movie a month ago: I've had this on the brain for _a month_. Thanks to Lilli for cheerleading/threats, much appreciated.

A guy can get used to a lot of things. Or maybe a guy can get resigned to a lot of things, if he _has_ to, if he is relentlessly bombarded with them and just has to put up with them because the alternative is unthinkable and awful and would just suck. So yeah, a guy can get used to slash resigned to a lot of things, any number of things, but Jesper is never, ever, going to get used to this darned gorge enough not to fear for his life when driving through it. It doesn’t even make a difference if they’re on the cliffs or in the valley below, he doesn’t like it. He finds this leg of the — nightly! — journey actively terrifying and he is not ashamed of that. 

Like hell is he going to tell Klaus though. Magical Klaus. Magical, woodsy, Klaus who looks at this hostile landscape and must see something Jesper can’t because he seems so darned contented with it. As if driving on this narrow — it can’t be a road, can it? surely the word road doesn’t actually extend to snow-covered, perilously thin deathtraps — strip of cliff is a breeze and not at all something to be worried about. Magical Klaus who’s… Magical Klaus who’s pulled the reins out of his hands and, and hey, when did they stop moving?

“Hey, when did we stop moving?”

“Quiet.”

“What? Huh? No way are we back to this! I am not a silent partner. I am the postmamph…”

Klaus’ massive hand is bleeding warmth through the cold of his sleeve, pulled down as far as it’ll go as an almost glove. Jesper knows this because Klaus’ hand has been pressed over his mouth to shut him up. 

“She stopped. Sensed something.”

Dimly, Jesper thinks that this is probably going to end up being the most he’s ever heard out of Klaus. It’s pretty pathetic that he’s going to chalk that up as an achievement. His achievements used to be ‘most shops patronised in a single afternoon’ or ‘most people annoyed at such and such a gala’, ‘most envious looks occasioned by his hanging on the arm of the ballet’s leading man’, now he’s counting the words he can wring from taciturn woodsmen. Oh, _God_. The _ballet_. The _men_. The _silk sheets._

He pulls Klaus’ hand down just enough to speak, because sue him the hand is warm and he likes being warm. 

“What kind of something?” he asks, or tries to because Klaus pushes him back toward the cart before he’s even finished ‘kind’ and then oh, sweet mercy there’s a crack and a whoosh and what seems like a flood of snow is sliding down the cliffside straight for Klaus. 

He yelps, “Hey come back!” and Klaus turns, leaping at Jesper and pulling him back further with the sheer momentum of him until they’re both in line with the pony and the cart and the avalanche has wiped out the whole path in front of them. 

—-

Jesper pulls his cloak tighter around himself because of course the wind has picked up and of course there ‘might be another fall’ so ‘we need to find shelter for the night’ and of course Klaus knows of a cave — a _cave_ — just back some from where they’d been. 

He did not sign up for this. He barely signed up for night shifts, he absolutely did not sign up for sleepovers, for camping! Jesper has been camping a grand total of once, because his stupid expensive school had done it and his father hadn’t believed his — totally credible and incredibly well executed — fever and insisted he go because he ‘needed to experience normal childhood things’. He’d hated every second of it. There had been no decent espresso in the wild, and his silk sheets had been ruined by muddy bootprints from frankly inconsiderate classmates. Come to think of it camping at school had been a lot like Smeerensburg: cold and full of unfortunate companions with violent tendencies. Jesper hadn’t necessarily been well liked at school.

“Are we there yet?” he whines, having to raise his voice over what’s sort of now a moan but could real soon become a howl from the wind. “You said ‘a ways back’ not ‘a trudge through miles of snow’.”

Klaus — who has disengaged the pony from the cart and is now pulling the cart himself while Jesper clings to the pony’s reins because honestly, though he’s totally lazy enough to want to ride, even he figures that in this weather that’s sort of dumb and oh, God, now he knows enough to be sensible about weather, this place is the pits — just grunts, or Jesper guesses he does because he can’t really hear anything let alone an actual worded response and hey, the man’s all for the threatening vocalisations normally so it doesn’t seem that much of a stretch. 

Eventually though Klaus does stop and drag the cart over to a bunch of solid, steady — oh please be steady — boulders and pushes it so it’s nestled up real close, hidden from the wind. 

Jesper, standing dumbly with the pony reins, is not hidden from the wind. He is taking tiny shards of ice to the face and he is not happy about it. He means to voice this when Klaus grabs him by the elbow and pulls him through the cliff. Or what Jesper thought was the cliff because he couldn’t see from the vicious, blinding, ice that’s being blown almost horizontally. Sheeting. 

For a moment the noise is deafening, the howl — yeah, it’s officially a howl now — of the wind echoing in this finite dark, space, but then Jesper’s ears adjust and the rest of his senses come back online and he unfurls his grip on pony’s reins, rubs his fingers to help bring back the sensation.

The cave is… dry. And it’s dark as heck but his eyes adjusting. 

“Wait here,” Klaus says and disappears back into the roiling white noise outside the cave and Jesper has half a mind to call him some choice names and yell back questioning _where the heck he would go_ but he doesn’t, because all of a sudden it’s just him and the pony now and he has no idea where he is and he can’t see Klaus and he’s worried. 

Jesper digs his fingers into the pony’s mane and holds on. He starts murmuring things, vaguely comforting nonsense words and he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed that he’s been reduced to comforting a horse because what if Klaus doesn’t come back? What if the wind’s too strong or more snow falls and he can’t get away fast enough because there’s no way Jesper would hear it, from here, no way he could know and oh God what if…

He’s resting his head on the pony’s when someone who is not him clears his throat. “Oh thank you,” he whispers to the fine hair under his face and then he straightens up, scowls and says, “What the heck was that all about, huh? What if you’d been blown off the mountain? What would happen to me — and the children! — then?”

Klaus just stalks to the middle of the cave and kneels down, drawing a bundle of… of something out from his coat, which he _takes off_ to sit on, and come on it is not that warm. He leans over and Jesper, well Jesper can’t see what he’s doing now. 

“What are you doing?”

“Fire,” Klaus says. 

“Fire? With what? Have you… have you broken the cart? We have to travel back in that Klaus, come on!”

“Not the cart.”

“The toys? The precious toys for the children, the hopes and dreams of the little girls and boys?”

“No.” Klaus is striking two stones against each-other and Jesper is again remembering the horror of camping. “Stowed some logs in the cart before. Just in case.” The logs burst into flame and Klaus smiles.

Jesper deflates like he’s been punctured. “Oh,” he says, “that’s… that’s smart.” He goes over to the fire, to Klaus, and sheds his own cloak to sit on. “You uh, have you been stuck out here at night before?”  
  
“Once or twice.”

“Yeah, guess the roads are pretty tricky.”

“Yeah.”

“Alright then.”

Jesper shrugs out of his jacket. The heady, lazy heat of the fire is getting to him, making his head swim so he doesn’t mind the awkward silence. Back home in the city, at the first sign of winter he’d have the maid light a fire in the morning and have it smoulder through the day and fill the apartment with welcoming warmth and it’s not the same but this is the first time he hasn’t felt cold in Smeerensburg. Here, in a cave God knows where. Here with just a pony and a guy who scared the crap out of him the first time they met and who Jesper is now kind of, sort of, actively lying to every night. 

“So,” he begins and then has to break off to scream and hurl himself at Klaus because there was a noise and it wasn’t him or the pony or Klaus and oh my God they’re going to get eaten by wolves. “Are there wolves here? We’re going to get eaten, aren’t we? Oh, why did this have to happen to me…” 

But Klaus isn’t jumping up, Klaus is running his hand — huge, powerful, normally axe-wielding hand — back and forth over Jesper’s lower back, the hand at the end of the arm that he’s thrown around him when Jesper had invaded his space in a blind panic. Jesper thinks he can feel him laughing, knows he can feel him laughing because Jesper’s face is currently pressed to the fur lining at Klaus’ neck and Klaus is… Klaus is rumbling at him. Not fully laughing, he’d guess, but Jesper would say this is a sort of chuckle, probably. And certainly it’s aimed at him.

“Fires make noise.”

Jesper pulls his neck back to level Klaus with what he hope is a look sufficiently withering. “I know that,” he says but Klaus hasn’t stopped gentling him and Jesper hasn’t had hands on him that weren’t out for his blood in months so sue him if his voice can’t quite muster the requisite ire. 

“It’s late,” Klaus says, but he doesn’t stop. His thumb digs into some spot on Jesper’s back that must have been tense since he left the academy because it makes Jesper groan and Klaus just, Klaus just brings his other hand to Jesper’s waist, holding him there. 

This — this doesn’t any sense. For starters, Jesper has had actual masseurs plenty of times before and Klaus is not one and for another they are in a cave, in the middle of nowhere on an island that itself is the middle of nowhere, and there was an avalanche less than an hour ago and yet here Jesper is feeling almost — getting there, slowly — relaxed. In the hands of a _giant_ he is relaxed. He truly has gone totally loco. 

The hand at Jesper’s waist is pulling his shirt out of his pants and when he’s successfully done so Klaus places his palm over Jesper’s belly, dry and callused and gargantuan. Jesper has to suppress a shudder, and he’s fucked primo ballerinos alright, he’s fucked all kinds of society guys so this isn’t his first rodeo but none of them had been able to span his stomach with a single hand before and it’s going straight to his groin. His long, long denied and lonely groin. He’s barely jerked off since he got to the island for fear of frostbite. 

He feels flushed, for the fire and the contact and a glance snuck at Klaus’ face shows that the feeling’s pretty mutual. He wonders idly how long Klaus has been up at that cabin alone but he decides that isn’t his business. 

What is his business is getting that hand to go a little lower. Jesper shifts in Klaus’s lap, making what’s rapidly becoming unmistakeable to him become unmistakable to Klaus too, and rests his hands on Klaus’ chest and hey, he’s breathing in little hitches now like Jesper is. 

Jesper strokes once, twice. “Maybe, maybe we’d sleep better?”

Klaus must take that as some kind of signal because his hand moves to Jesper’s waistband, huge fingers fumbling against the belt-buckle and Jesper clenches his hands in Klaus’ shirt when Klaus’ hand is finally wrapped around him. And Jesper’s no slouch in this department, he’s tall compared to _normal people_ and down there reflects that but the width of Klaus’ massive hand is huge and engulfing and Jesper… Jesper makes some kind of strangled sound and presses against the hand that’s still at his back bracketing him in. 

“Klaus, please,” Jesper whines and Klaus starts moving his hand, minimally because God knows he doesn’t need to go far but it’s everything, tight and just how he likes it, got enough masochistic burn. Sex is the only time Jesper likes to hurt a little, to feel it, and oh how Klaus could make him feel it. Is making him feel it. 

Whimpering, Jesper drops a hand from Klaus’ chest and starts wrestling with the man’s belt, rucking up his long tunic to get at it. 

Klaus’ rhythm falters and Jesper looks up at him, sees the hazy need in his eyes and smiles, small. “Hey, fair’s fair.” And he keeps going at the belt, and Klaus resumes his stroking and it’s like this is normal, sensible, the heat of the fire and the warmth of the two of them seeping back in and blocking all the other things from their minds. He can pretend that they’re not in a cave, that they’re not in Smeerensburg, that he met this monster of a man at a gala or a party or a circus and took him home for the night. Like instead of cold stone beneath them it’s just the rug he had in front of the fire at his city centre place. He can pretend that this isn’t wrong, that Klaus has all the facts and knows who Jesper is, right down to his selfish, selfish little bones. Little bones that Klaus could snap…

He doesn’t snap his bones, his hands instead are absurdly gentle as they rest low on Jesper’s back and hot and tight around him. Jesper finally gets the belt open — one handed, what can he say he’s always been skilled — and licks his hand before wrapping his hand around a wholly proportionate tool. A dizzyingly, dazzlingly proportionate tool, hot and oh so heavy in his hand and Jesper feels like somehow he’s won the lottery because this, this is the thing guys like Jesper — guys with tastes like Jesper’s — dream of. 

Almost without actually engaging his brain Jesper finds himself shifting closer, and Klaus seems to get the picture because he uses the arm around him to pull Jesper in so that, yeah. So that Jesper can draw Klaus out of his pants and press against him, bringing the hard lengths of them together. 

Jesper shifts again, rutting up and forward and the hand that Klaus has had wrapped around him opens to wrap around both of them, more than big enough to do so and still keep the perfect pressure. And the moisture from their combined desperation is slicking the way and Jesper throws his head back, feels the hot air from the fire hit him like a wall and lull him closer and _close_.

It’s too hot, something he never thought he’d be thinking in Smeerensburg, and too good, which: ditto, and Jesper feels like he’s been waiting for this for so long. He laces his own fingers with Klaus’ around their dicks, squeezes a little tighter than Klaus had and Klaus groans a little, takes a shallow breath in and looks at Jesper with this _look_ in his eyes and Jesper shouldn’t meet that, that’s too honest and he’ll give himself away but he can’t look anywhere else except maybe down between them and if he does that it’ll all be over. 

Jesper drags his lip between his teeth and bites and Klaus, Klaus follows the movement with his eyes and then screws them shut, increases his pace and he’s clinging to Jesper and Jesper’s other hand is fisted in his shirt and they come like that, pressed close and warm and comfortable. 

Once he’s stopped shuddering, Jesper lays his head on Klaus’ massive shoulder and breathes. He feels so tired, so so tired. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this tired, even after sex and sure he’s not exactly the most active partner in sex but it’s still exertion, it’s still a work out but no, he has never been this tired. He can’t even keep his eyes open.

“Thanks man,” he hears himself murmur. “‘M gonna, ‘m gonna sleep now.”

And Klaus’ hand is still at his back and Jesper feels sort of weightless? for a bit and then he’s lying on something soft and warm and he’s warm and soft and yeah, he falls asleep. Maybe Smeerensburg is okay. Maybe this won't end bad.


End file.
